


Fire and Stars

by Archaeopteryx_Feather



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Seeker Trines, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 10:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7571473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaeopteryx_Feather/pseuds/Archaeopteryx_Feather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only Thundercracker knew the true story of what happened to Starscream after Skyfire died for the second time.  The suicide attempts.  The funeral for a trusted traitor.  The secret vow.  Can Thundercracker draw his wingleader out of his downward spiral, or will Starscream's inner demons finally destroy him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Seekercentric + Skyfire. No gore, slash, or graphic material. 
> 
> Beyond the usual story stats, I'll add that this is an emotionally intense, character-driven story that tries to portray the Decepticons as complex, intelligent soldiers rather than cardboard villains. The plotline is loosely based around the events in "Fire in the Sky" and "Fire on the Mountain" from the G1 cartoon, but it puts a very unique spin on events. If you like stories about Starscream, Thundercracker, Skywarp and Skyfire but are bored of reading the same tired tropes and sentimental mush over and over, then is the story for you.
> 
> Special thanks to Carmilla DeWinter for beta reading an earlier version for me. Smartest feedback ever! :)

 

**Fire & Stars**

_Many years ago, two friends set out to explore a distant galaxy._

_Only one returned home._

The briefing had lasted nearly an hour. Thundercracker hid a yawn behind his hand; he knew the topic was important, but that didn't make it _interesting_. At his side, Skywarp shot him a look of unfathomable boredom. If things went on much longer, the black jet was going to start making weird faces at him when nobody was looking. Thundercracker straightened up and made himself look engaged. His wingmate didn't need any extra encouragement to disregard command center protocol.

"—and after we have tapped the crystal shaft to the Earth's molten core, we can drain the planet's heat energy to produce thousands of energon cubes," Megatron finished, optics aglow at the prospect.

Thundercracker glanced up at the diagram behind Megatron's shoulder, where a cross-sectional view of the earth was shown. Last week's planetary energy survey had terminated abruptly when Soundwave's geo satellite made unexpected contact with an Autobot missile. But POLSAT's demise had not been in vain: somewhere along its final transit, the satellite had discovered a promising new geothermal energy source. Unfortunately, the orbiter's dying datadump had been corrupted, leaving Megatron with fuzzy location data and a problem.

"We know the crystal shaft is somewhere in this vicinity," Megatron said, stabbing his finger at a cross-hatched purple patch in northern Alaska. "It will be necessary to pinpoint the shaft's exact location with some high definition scans. The real challenge will be to keep our activities hidden from the Autobots. They'll be watching for another satellite, so we shall do low level aerial surveys instead." Megatron paused and looked over at Starscream.

Right on cue, the other declared contemptuously, "This plan is nothing but a waste of energy!"

Megatron's face darkened, but he waited silently for the rest of Starscream's rant.

"First of all," Starscream began, adopting a scornful smile, "It's called a dike, not a 'crystal shaft.' Second, the Earth's core isn't molten, it's solid nickel-iron ore. And third, no dike could reach all the way down to the core because it would melt before it even got close. The proper term is 'asthenosphere.' Who made this diagram anyway?"

"I fail to see how this has any relevance to the plan," Megatron growled.

Thundercracker looked back to the diagram, wondering what was supposedly wrong with it. Off to the side, Skywarp gave an exaggerated grimace that said, _When will this torment end?_

"Allow me to explain," Starscream said, walking over to the nearby console and typing rapidly. The faulty diagram was replaced by a stark image of snowclad mountains rearing over a plain of ice. The picture had been taken at night, and the black sky was traced with improbable green streaks that hovered like luminescent banners.

"This is the polar landscape," Starscream said, throwing a hand out to indicate the picture. "As you can see, a very inhospitable climate."

"I'm aware of that. Get to the point," Megatron said.

"That _is_ the point." Pausing for a moment to pace in a circle while he gathered his thoughts, Starscream launched into a smug critique: "Not that you would know anything about it, but the arctic weather will make it virtually impossible to find the dike. There are gale-force winds, sudden blizzards—you _do_ know what a blizzard is?—ice fog, darkness, and extreme temperatures. It will lead to all sorts of setbacks and delays. And those pretty lights in the sky produce electromagnetic interference that can wreak havoc with radio communications."

"We can do without the radio, and you can fly above the weather," Megatron asserted.

"We can't fly above the weather or we'll be detected by the Autobots," Starscream countered, once again typing into the computer. A map of the northern half of North America came up, with a line of red dots crossing the top of the continent in a path roughly paralleling the arctic circle. "The DEW line is a line of radar stations installed here by the humans to detect flying craft such as ourselves. Two months ago the Autobots upgraded it with the latest and greatest scanners."

Megatron's optics flashed. "You said last week's stealth updates would make it possible for us to avoid electronic detection."

"Of course. But there are still humans crawling all over the place, and it only takes one radar operator to spoil your whole plan. And I remind you that we'd have to stay low to the ground to do the sort of high resolution geophysical surveys you want."

At the words "geophysical surveys," Thundercracker couldn't help but grimace—apart from technical briefings, he could imagine few things less interesting than mindlessly flying a grid. And assuming Starscream wasn't exaggerating about the weather... He darted a quick glance towards Skywarp, who returned an empathetic cringe.

"It may be difficult to find the _crystal shaft_ , but the potential rewards will be more than worth it," Megatron declared. "And, since you seem to know so much about the arctic, _you_ will be the one directing the search."

"Me?" Starscream exclaimed.

 _He should have seen that coming_ , Thundercracker thought, suppressing a smile.

"Yes, you," Megatron said. "I can't afford to be out of communication with Cybertron right now. Take Soundwave, Skywarp and Thundercracker and begin the scans at once." Thundercracker's hidden smile turned into a groan.

"But I have important things to—"

"Unless you don't think you can handle it?" Megatron added, smiling innocuously.

Starscream's mouth snapped shut. He scowled. "Very well, Megatron, I will find this _crystal shaft_ to the earth's _molten core._ Even if it _is_ a waste of energon."

"No doubt; but we will be adequately repaid...once we have drained the Earth's heat energy dry!"

Megatron's optics brightened into glowing red coals and he raised an exultant fist that crackled with power. Starscream folded his arms and glowered. Skywarp silently mouthed a prayer of thanks to whatever deity ended briefings. Thundercracker just gazed glumly at the picture of the mountains and the swirling green lights. He could tell this was going to be one of those _fun_ missions.

 

*   *   *

 

To Thundercracker's relief, the end of the briefing coincided with the end of first shift. He followed Skywarp down to the rec room.

"I feel like I aged another million years in there," Skywarp moaned. "When Starscream started going on about how it was a dike not a crystal shaft, I could have strangled him."

" _Surveys_ ," Thundercracker said. "We're going to do _surveys_."

"Slag that satellite! Why couldn't the Autobots have shot it down just _one_ _day_ later?"

"Because that would be too easy," Thundercracker grumbled.

The rec room had the usual amenities: dartboard, holoprojector, energon dispenser, and a collage of posters depicting femmes in suggestive postures. Here and there pieces of foil streamers hung down—the ironic remains of the launch party decorations. The faux cheer was not enough to disguise the mismatched tables or the hollow feeling of too much unfilled space. _Victory_ had been built on a scale far too large for the nine Decepticons who occupied it now, and the empty rooms made it feel like a ghost ship. Bare girders showed in the ceiling, and amidst the buzzing overhead lights Thundercracker could see thick electrical cables threading their way overhead like enormous worms. The ship hadn't even been finished before it crashed.

Skywarp flicked on the some music to drive off the ghosts while Thundercracker filled an energon cube at the dispenser. Ravage had materialized from somewhere; the cat leapt up on a chair to watch them in silence. After the briefing, Thundercracker didn't feel like sitting still, so he plucked up a dart from the bin. The dartboard was made from a sheet of construction foam featuring a penned-on smiley face with blue optics. Thundercracker fixed on the nose and tossed. The dart stuck in the left optic.

"Hey, want to watch _As The Kitchen Sinks_?" Skywarp said. He threw and hit the smiley's nose dead on.

"Forget it," Thundercracker grunted. "I'm not spending my off-shift watching some dumb alien holo."

"C'mon, it's not so bad," Skywarp said. "Try it. Just this once."

"You sound like you're trying to sell me a happy program." Thundercracker aimed high, tossed. The dart embedded itself to the right.

 _Must be a crossbreeze,_ Ravage said.

"Hush, you," Thundercracker ordered.

Skywarp adopted a mock-rapturous voice. "C'mon TC, everyone's doing it. You gotta try this program."

Thundercracker just shook his head.

"Okay, what's it gonna take, huh? Bribery? No? How 'bout begging? I can do begging."

"Don't go there."

Skywarp knelt and clutched Thundercracker's knees. "Pretty pretty plee-e-e-ease!"

"Stop that!" Thundercracker growled. Skywarp's begging act used to amuse him, but after Starscream had literally grovelled at Megatron's feet...

Ravage gave a quiet chuckle and observed, _Like wingleader, like wings_.

Thundercracker's optics inflamed. He kicked Skywarp away, stomped over to Ravage's chair and slammed his hands down on either side of the cat's body.

"Say that to my face," he ground out.

Ravage stared up at him, optics wide and bright. The cat's tail lashed once. _I misspoke,_ he said at last.

Thundercracker straightened up, not breaking his gaze. "That's what I thought."

"Yeah, you need to definitely need to loosen up," Skywarp said. "And the perfect way to do that would be to watch _As the Kitchen Sinks_ with me."

"For the last time, I said—!"

Skywarp seized him by the arm and a flash of purple enveloped them both.

 _"—No!_ " Thundercracker found himself standing in the single clear spot in a very messy set of quarters. He jerked his arm away and made for the door.

"Hold it right there. You and I need to talk," Skywarp said. The sharpness in the other's voice made Thundercracker pause. "But first of all, get off my shark."

Thundercracker looked down. Among the dead Christmas trees, empty spray cans, and dried snake collection was a huge balloon shaped like a shark. His foot was pressing down on the tail. He raised his foot and took a step back.

"Now you're defiling Fishy's crypt."

With a growl Thundercracker moved his foot off the box that held the worldly remains of Skywarp's former pet fish.

"That's better," Skywarp said. "Now, don't you think you're overreacting just a teensy bit to this whole mess with Starscream?"

"Ravage called us cowards!" Thundercracker snapped. "I don't take that from anybody!"

"He was just trying to make a joke. I'll admit it wasn't very good, but..."

"I don't find being compared to Starscream funny."

"It's been seven months, TC," Skywarp said earnestly. "They would have dropped it by now if you weren't so touchy about it."

Thundercracker fell silent. Had it been seven months already? The humiliation of the day he had become the wingmate of a cowardly traitor still stung like it had happened yesterday. He hadn't been there when Starscream had grovelled for his life, but others had, and they had recounted what had happened in excruciating detail. His jaw clenched involuntarily.

"So yeah, something to think about," Skywarp said, swinging himself up onto his recharge slab. "Anyway, now that you're here, you might as well watch dumb alien holos with me. C'mon, sit down. This is a funny episode." He put out a foot and kicked a jar of bouncy balls off a chair, then nudged the seat meaningfully towards him. Thundercracker glowered at him, but sagged into the proffered chair nonetheless. Multicolored bouncy balls leapt cheerly about his knees.

The tiny TV set flickered to life on its stand. Skywarp touched a control and a much-enlarged hologram blossomed in front of the puny screen, displaying a picture of something fuzzy and insectoid with huge compound eyes.

"—then you'll long for the sweet taste of Blast O' Honey," the being said. "For more energy, feed your inner bee!"

"I don't get it," Thundercracker said flatly.

"These are the commercials. It'll come on in a minute, I promise—oop, here it is."

Theme music played. Faces appeared and faded away on the holographic screen.

"That's Anthony," Skywarp explained. "He's a jerk. That's Sarah—she thinks she's hot. And that's Jessica, Sarah's mother. The blond is Cheryl, she's funny."

"Uh-huh," Thundercracker grunted. They all looked alike to him. Same color scheme, same size, same body shape, same everything. Even the mechs looked like femmes with their daintily tapered limbs, curvy bodies, and pink outlined lips. "You know what their optics look like to me? Bearings. Greasy ball bearings rolling around."

"That's what I thought too!" Skywarp exclaimed with a laugh. "And the hair...wow. It's like their head is covered with frayed wires." Thundercracker shuddered. Skywarp continued, "...Now that girl tying Cheryl to the chair—Erica—is her best friend. They're getting back at Anthony by pretending they got kidnapped. He faked his own death awhile ago, but he's back now."

"Tighter I say, tighter!" Cheryl said. Then she squeaked, "But not that tight! Can't breath, cannot breath!"

An invisible audience exploded in laughter. Adopting a tone of disinterest, Thundercracker asked, "Why'd he fake his own death?"

"Well, you see there was this other girl named Liz, and she always had a fear of water, and one day she and this chick named Audrey were out swimming, and Liz got a cramp (a cramp is like a frozen joint). So then Liz was like, 'Aah, I'm drowning!' (drowning means, uh, plugged intakes, but worse) and Audrey had to save her, and they've been BFFs (best friends) ever since. Then a year later Audrey asks Liz for a favor, and Liz was like 'Okay, anything' so Audrey asks Liz to babysit (take of care) her kids, who were staying with their grandmother because their father—"

"Is this going somewhere anytime soon?"

"Well...it's kind of hard to explain without the background." Skywarp leaned back, making himself comfortable. "See, the thing is we actually won't find out for sure why Anthony did it until the next season. But I've come up with a theory. Wanna hear?"

"Not really. Frankly I'm surprised you like this geek stuff." Thundercracker swept his hand around the room to indicate the piles of tiny videogame cartridges and music cassettes scattered about like confetti. Skywarp and Rumble had been obsessing over human slag for months.

"Hey, I thought it was pretty dumb at first too," Skywarp replied with a shrug. "But it's not like there's anything else to do around here."

"Why not catch up on the four million years of shows you missed? I thought Soundwave set up a link to Cynet just so that we could play games and chat with everyone."

"Yeah well, the only person left to chat with is Shockwave."

"That's not true anymore," Thundercracker insisted. "Why, Ramjet just got out of stasis last week. He says congrats on being alive, by the way."

"Really?" Skywarp said. "No card?"

Thundercracker just snorted. "Well, can we at least watch something I actually like, then? How about Downtime? There's like eight million episodes we missed."

Skywarp groaned. "I've done nothing but watch Downtime since I got stuck on spacebridge duty. Don't even mention that word to me."

"We could always play Deathwing. Even if there's no one online, there will still be NPCs," Thundercracker said. "...Unless they canceled our accounts for four million years of inactivity."

"Yeah, that. Bye bye, level 57 Thundersword. Bye bye, creds. Bye bye, Doomfall Corps membership. Anyway, turns out it's really slow, and the connection cuts off like every five minutes. I told Soundwave about it and he says he can't fix it because of…space things, or something."

"Okay," Thundercracker admitted. "How 'bout we go flying?"

"Where?"

"I dunno. The Grand Canyon?"

Skywarp made an unimpressed noise. "You mean the Bland Canyon? The Bland Canyon of Puniness?"

On the television, a gale of laughter drew back Thundercracker's attention. Securely bound, Cheryl was now yelling at someone offscreen to step away from the orange juice and put down the squirt gun or else. A moment later she was hosed down by orange fluid.

"You—are—dead!" she howled, scootching the chair forward an inch at a time.

Skywarp leaned forward, chuckling. "Doesn't she sound like Starscream when she yells?"

"No, he's higher pitched."

The audience gave one more roar of laughter, then the picture faded out. It was replaced by a completely different scene where a woman was running through a field of flowers.

"What would you do if you had more energy?" A feminine voice asked earnestly.

"Commercial break," Skywarp explained. He turned down the volume. "Are you sure you don't want to hear my theory on why Anthony killed himself?"

"You're a geek, Skywarp," Thundercracker replied. "You're a geek because like holos about ugly stupid aliens. In fact, I'm changing your name to Skygeek. How do you like that?"

"Oh, you're going to call me names, huh? Well, two can play that game, Thundercrapper. And I'm no geek. If anything, Rumble is! He likes _anime_. Now that's dorky."

"Geeeeek. Skygeek. G, E, E, K."

Thundercrapper. Crappy, crap, crapper, crap, crap—"

"I'm going to recharge. So long, Skygeek."

"Thunder—" Skywarp's parting shot was cut off as the doors slid shut.

Thundercracker trudged down the hall until he came to his own door. Starscream had tried to explain once why Skywarp was so obsessed with fleshling stuff. "He likes it _because_ it's boring. It reminds him of the good old days, see? Golden Age innocence. It's a nostalgia trip without any guilt-ads about energon conservation." Thundercracker wasn't sure he bought it.

The doors to his quarters grated opened with a rusty squeak, a souvenir from the crash and subsequent flood. Even after seven months everything still smelled briny, and he was certain there were a few dead fish in the ventilation shaft upwind of his quarters.

He had tried his best to restore his room to its pre-flood condition. A faint but pleasant aroma of polish hung in the air, and all of his pictures and mementos were scrubbed clean and restored to their shelves. In the place of honor hung the wingspan-wide standard of the Decepticon Air Command, a dramatic black rectangle with an upside-down purple sigil depicted as if on a Seeker's wing. The banner was slightly water-stained now, and the marks were just bad enough to be noticeable.

For the umpteenth time, he studied the banner. Regulations stated that sigils used for personal decoration must be unmarred and displayed with dignity. Did the water stains constitute "marring"? If so, should he respectfully dispose of banner and get a new one?

As always, he decided to leave it up. There was no point in wasting energy fabbing a new one—unlike his wingmates, he understood the concept of conservation—and having a duplicate brought over from Cybertron would cost an exhorbitant amount of energon.

He stretched out on his recharge slab. The mission hadn't even begun yet, and he already felt tired. Who wouldn't feel tired when faced with the prospect of months stuck with Starscream and Soundwave in the very epicenter of nowhere? _Maybe we'll find that crystal dike thing right away._ _Then we can go home early. ...But more likely it'll take months._ A pessimistic instinct told him that he would soon be bored enough to listen to Skywarp's explanation of why that human had tried to feign his own death.

Or perhaps not. If they succeeded with the mission to drain Earth's energy, all organic life would be frozen to death. _As the Kitchen Sinks_ would be off the air forever. Thundercracker gave a nasty smile. Hopefully it would end on a cliffhanger; that would show Skywarp for liking something so ridiculously dumb.

He laced his fingers over his canopy and gazed up at the light panels.

What would it be like, he wondered, to freeze to death? He was built to endure the frigid temperatures of the upper atmosphere (why Starscream thought arctic subzero temperatures were any different, he didn't know) and the sensation had never struck him as unpleasant.

He tried to picture what it would be like to die from pure cold, if he were human. Probably the first thing to happen would be that their round wet optics would freeze in place (a distinct improvement; he had always found those rolling ball-shaped eyes disturbing). Next, those fragile hands with their bones and cables sliding underneath the blanket of skin would solidify, and the skin itself would harden like a drying coat of enamel. Then the red fluid in their lines would chill, spreading cold everywhere until at last there would be nothing left but a crypt statue made of pink ice. He shifted on the slab, his fingers twisting over his cockpit.

How many humans had Soundwave said there were on the planet? Six billion? He tried to remember where he had heard that number. After a moment it came back to him—the "Know Your Enemy" briefing. The number had been meant to intimidate them, show them that they were nine Decepticons outnumbered nearly a billion to one by the flesh creatures. Display no weakness. Do not let technology be captured and reverse engineered. Stay on your toes. Thundercracker had felt somber afterward.

 _Soundwave could have mentioned that the six billion fleshlings were just a bunch of pathetic wimps,_ Thundercracker thought, bemused by his early concern. The humans were complete pushovers, all of them. Even the military. Just a bunch of soft little squishies playing soldier, not one of them over a hundred years old. Six billion new builts. Six billion assisted kills about to be added to his record. Not something to be proud of.

An uncertain little frown formed in his brow. The flesh creatures were easily dispensed with, yes, but that was something to be grateful for, not...

He stopped himself.

One question led to another, and he had the feeling that he didn't quite want to find out where they ended. He had learned to listen to that feeling. _Later,_ he decided at length, folding his hands and making himself comfortable. _I need recharge now_. He began to shut down his systems.

But as his main processor began to deactivate, a picture flashed involuntarily through his mind. Cheryl had still been tied up in her chair when the Earth froze. Her hideous hair-wire was white with frost, and her flesh glittered coldly. And to his unpleasant surprise, her face was set in an almost Cybertronian scream of anguish.

 

*   *   *

 

Starscream gave a snarl as he tried to wedge a can of engine cleaner into the box. It wouldn't go. Finally he gave up and cracked the can open, downing it in one draught.

It wasn't high grade, but it had its own curative properties. One sip a day would keep his lines free of impurities. One entire can, however, was like drinking nuclear fire. He gave a slow sigh as the acidic liquid filtered down into his internals. It felt purifying, good. The burning focused his thoughts.

Here, alone in his quarters, he didn't have to explain. They would never have understood why he was cramming oil, grease, energon, anti-freeze, extra optics, solar sheet components and spare parts into a box that he was planning to keep with him during the mission. Paranoid, they would say.

"Fools," he spat as he crushed the can in his fist and hurled it at the recycling bin embedded in the wall. It disappeared as it was automatically drawn into subspace.

With a grunt he stood, bringing his weight down on the box's lid until the lock clicked shut. He stuffed the box and its contents into the subspace under his canopy.

The load of necessities made him feel slightly better. With a curse directed at no one in particular, he threw himself down on his recharge slab and glanced around at the familiar, comforting surroundings that he would soon be leaving behind. Once empty, his quarters had been transformed into home by a timely shipment of personal effects via the spacebridge. His optics trailed over his prizes, seeking a distraction from the dark turn his thoughts threatened to take.

The weapons he had won over the years hung on the walls, a garish assortment of trophies generously furnished by deceased Autobot aces. Those were from back in the days when the Autobots had an air force to be reckoned with; now it was hard to find a flying Autobot, let alone kill it before somebody else nabbed it first. What a fine irony that his own success as Air Commander had robbed him of his favorite pastime. Now everybody just took Decepticon air superiority for granted.

His gaze drifted to his desk and the datapad there, and his face soured. Of course Megatron would send him off on this foolish errand now, when he was right in the middle of drafting his reorganization plan for the Air Command.

During Starscream's four million year absence, the airforce had fallen into the clutches of a so-called Air Commander named Apex. Starscream had yet to meet his replacement in person, but they had already had many long, fascinating conversations during which it had become clear that Apex would have to done away with. The other mech was a spineless, shortsighted bureaucrat who plainly had no intention of relinquishing the control he had gained in Starscream's absence.

Starscream hated the thought of leaving the Air Command in Apex's hands while he was gone. The other mech was nominally his second in command—this being a temporary concession Starscream had been forced to make for the sake of "a harmonious transfer of control from Shockwave's government to our own," Megatron's words—but the other mech wasn't fit to command a garbage drone. How to get rid of him?

And who was to say that Apex wasn't asking the same question about _him_? Starscream's optics narrowed slightly. Perhaps this ridiculous errand wasn't as foolish as he thought. Could Megatron be plotting to get him out of the way so that he could raise Apex in his stead? A prolonged absence would be the perfect opportunity for it. He wouldn't be able to defend his position while he was out of contact with Cybertron.

He played with the notion for a moment, exploring the implications, but finally dismissed it. Apex was too much of a fool to be a threat, and Megatron couldn't get rid of Starscream while the Air Command was still in shambles. Even so, he needed to get rid of Apex. The sooner the better. But Apex was Shockwave's creature, and Shockwave would fight hard to keep him in Starscream's command chain.

He drummed his fingers on the slab, thinking. His best idea so far was to strip away all the duties that normally went with Apex's rank, leaving him with an empty title. Or if possible, simply kill him. That particular plan was a little too obvious for Starscream's tastes, yet it had its sound points. Apex's sudden death would turn away the knife hovering silently over Starscream's back and send a message that Air Commander Starscream was still worthy of his rank. With the usurper out of the way, he could reassert his authority and stifle the malicious rumors that he had gone obsolete.

And he was definitely not obsolete. Not anymore, anyway. Starscream reached over and fondled the upgraded nullray on his shoulder, savoring the sleek new power there. It was still hard to believe that he had four million years of technology, science, and history to catch up on, but he had no complaints. His new nullrays were so much superior to his old ones that they seemed almost like magic. He wished he had possessed them when he was younger, when there were still Autobots flying the sky.

Standing, he made his way over to the shelf on the far wall. Here his history was written in a different way, starting with the valedictorian plaque that he had earned at the War Academy. It was a beautiful thing, streamlined and winged, and he was glad it hadn't been lost when they had cleaned out his quarters in Darkmount. Nearby hung his case of medals. He opened the case and whimsically plucked the glinting decorations off their magnetic perches, fingering tiny sigils engulfed in flames, wrought flyers diving out of the sun, geometric shapes engraved into pleasing patterns. There was something intrinsically satisfying about rearranging them by color, date, or form. Even the shapes felt nice in his hands. There was his Megaannum pin, and there was the Order of Vos, the first medal he had ever won.

He took the Order in his hand and held it for a moment. A bronze sun emblazoned with an upside-down sigil rose behind a line of silver towers and domes. Two Vossian glyphs engraved on either side of the sun read "Freedom" and "Glory."

Almost nine million years had passed since the day he had won that medal. His fingers closed around the familiar shape, and he rubbed it gently, feeling the scratches he had inscribed on the back. How much longer would the war last? When would the day come that he could fulfill the promise he had made when he received the decoration?

He glanced behind him to see if anyone was looking. No one, of course—but years of rooming with Skywarp had made him instinctively suspicious. Self consciously he put the medal back on an empty magnet and closed the case.

 _I just have to survive a month,_ he thought. He patted his canopy subspace where the box was hidden. _I can do this. I will do this._

Tomorrow he would begin preparing for this miserable little expedition. The preparations would be thorough and complete; nothing would go awry. He was the only one who understood what they were getting into.


End file.
